


Breathing in Your Dust

by johnny_bravado



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnny_bravado/pseuds/johnny_bravado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan gets forced to therapy by long time friend, Spencer smith, only to realize his therapist is young and inexperienced, but something about him keeps him coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"He's probably wearing the lamest Spider-man sweatshirt I've ever seen in my  
life," Ryan thinks to himself as he walks into the therapists for the first  
time. The young 8 year old scurries past him. His hands shake beneath him. 

This is stupid. Spencer's idea. So of course it's stupid. No offense to him. 

He's the oldest one in the waiting room for some reason. 

He arrived late but his name hasn't been called. He'll wait maybe five more  
minutes before he leaves. This is ridiculous. 

"Ryan?" A dark haired man around his age calls his name. He has warm eyes and  
this /angers/ Ryan. He's /too/ young and /too/ handsome. 

"Well I'll be damned," Ryan thinks. 

No. This can't be his therapist. His therapist was supposed to be a great guy  
with plenty of awards and fancy things along those lines. This is bull shit. 

"And you are?" Ryan asks as they walk up the stairs into a small office. 

"Brendon Urie, your counselor, of course," he replies calmly. 

Ryan laughs. "You look young." Ryan is practically sitting on his hands. 

Ryan's eyes trace around the room. These offices are all sort out in an old  
house from the 60s. Two certificates hang on the wall, and a filing cabinet  
below them. 

"I'm 27, and yes. I'm old enough to be doing this." Benson or whatever studies  
him as he sits down. Like he's already analyzing him. 

The couch is uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to sit. 

"Nice." Ryan replies sarcastically. 

"Age doesn't mean wise. We all have our mental ages, you know. What age would  
you say you are?" Ben-Brendon twirls a pen in his hand like a drum stick. 

"27." 

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? I don't know, man."

"By the end of the sessions we'll see if that's true. Do you have any plans of  
settling down?"

"Um. No?" Ryan rubs his face with his hands. He's not as hungover as he was this  
morning. 

"So why do you think you're here?"

The million dollar question. 

"Um, y'know, the usual you'd see for men my age," Ryan replies. "Didn't Spencer  
tell you?" 

"Yes, but, I wanna hear it from you."

Brendon's eyes are soft and he's chewing on the back of his pen with his legs  
crossed. 

"Well, from Spencer's mouth, 'You're sad and worried all the time, and eat too  
little,'" Ryan drones. 

Ryan has always been naturally thin, but lately it has been scaring Spencer. 

"Why are you sad all the time?" Brendon turns his head just an inch. He hasn't  
written a thing. 

"Aren't you supposed to be writing?"  
Ryan asks. 

"You haven't said anything worth writing yet. Well, now you have," Brendon  
replies.

What?

"So what's making you upset?"

Ryan taps his hands on his thighs. "Can we change the subject?"

"Sure."

... What?

"What do you do? Do you have a job, a wife, pets."

"I don't have any of those. First of all, I'm gay. Second of all, I'd probably  
accidentally kill the animal somehow. 

Brendon sighs. "And you don't need a job?"

"I don't need one," Ryan reiterates. He has inheritance to last him the rest  
of his life. "You know, inheritance and stock investing."

"You invest in stock?" Brendon is always looking for Ryan to elaborate. He's  
giving him nothing. 

"Gives me something to do."

"So do you think the reason behind your sadness is because you are lonely or  
bored?"

"Sure, whatever." Ryan stares at the man's features. He looks so warm. "I do,  
however, have friends."

"Do your friends know about you coming here, other than Spencer?"

Well, okay, maybe his only friend is Spencer. Who is busy with his girlfriend or  
full time job for a record company. "Uh, no."

The tension in the room is thick. Mostly because Ryan's so quite and Brendon  
doesn't know what to do with someone his age. Old people are easy, kids are  
easier. Even people who are going through their midlife crisis or a horrible  
drug addiction are easier. 

"So this week before we see each other again, I want you to try to find  
something you like to do. Something new. Something interesting," Brendon  
suggests. 

Ryan narrows his eyes. "Like what? Who's to say that I don't do interesting  
things now?" 

"Okay, sorry, what do you like to do?"

Ryan should just keep his mouth shut. He only has fifty more minutes. 

"Um, I used to play guitar."

"Used to? Why'd you quit?" 

Ryan hates attention. He hates this. 

"Okay, you know what, I don't need this. This is bullshit," Ryan stands, and  
Brendon does too. "You're not getting anywhere and I'm not feeling better about  
myself."

Brendon's eyes are practically burning into his damn soul.

"Ryan," he says calmly. "Please sit down. Something is hurting inside of you?  
Right?"

Ryan scoffs. "Yeah! The burning desire to go home."

"Please Ryan, let's sit. And I'll talk."

He'll talk. Ryan can listen. 

"Humor me."

They sit back into their original spots, and Brendon puts down his notes. 

"You're closed off, and don't want to admit things. But listen, Ryan, you don't  
know me and this is my /job/. You can whine about your life and all your  
problems. Nobody else will find out. You're safe here. I know this is weird  
because you don't know me, but that's the exact beauty of it. And the other  
beautiful part is that I can help you. But you need to tell me what's wrong." 

Well. 

Hm. 

Ryan stares down at the floor and crosses his arms. "Well, my dad and mom split  
when I was 11, then I barely ever saw her. And uh, Dad was a hard worker and a  
business owner who, uh, y'know, beat the shit out of me every other week." He  
takes a deep intake of breath. "Now, for the last two years since he died I get  
great nightmares about him doing that stuff. So, that lead to me never being  
able to sleep. I haven't slept for real in about a month."

"So insomnia?" Brendon asks. He still hasn't picked up that notebook. He looks  
saddened. Ah, yes, the taste of sweet pity. 

"Sure, again, call it what you want." 

"What about guitar? Why'd you stop?"

"I can't physically play it. My hands tremor too much and get too stiff. I hate  
the feeling. Don't worry, I don't have Parkinson's, just 'anxiety'." 

Brendon presses his lips together. "Have you taken pills?"

"Well, I've had the tremor even since I was young because it's hereditary.  
Thanks Dad. So part of it's not even anxiety. And it gets worse with age. You  
shoulda seen dad. Well, part of it's because he was so angry," Ryan notices  
himself getting off topic. "So yeah, I have tried. But they didn't do anything.  
I couldn't be on anything strong because my blood pressure is so low." 

Ryan can't believe he just talked that much. 

"Wow, so this has really been an issue for you?" Brendon says softly. Like his  
heart is breaking for him. 

"Yeah. I wanted to do guitar in college, but I was shaking so bad in auditions I  
couldn't get into anywhere. So I majored in business instead. Worst and best  
four years of my life." Ryan laughs to himself. Those memories are almost foggy  
by now. 

"What was so great about college to you?"

"I met Spencer," Ryan admits. Brendon starts to write things. Fair enough, he  
can't remember it all. 

"Has he helped you at all with your nervousness?" 

"No. But he understood there wasn't much to be done. He did open me up to more  
opportunities and friendships, however."

Brendon continues scribbling and biting the bottom of his lip in concentration. 

"And uh, life was fine after college. Had a boyfriend, worked at Allstate, the  
works. I left Allstate because of the management. Boyfriend left me four years  
later. I was 'too fussy'. When he really cheated on me. And then dad died. No I  
don't drink a lot. Why would I want to be like my dad?" Ryan talks slowly, like  
every word is painful to get out and his lungs are collapsing on himself. 

It was a mouthful. More than he's talked in months 

Ryan can barely breathe. 

"Ryan, are you feeling alright?" Brendon walks to sit next to him and notices  
the tremor. 

Ryan doesn't want to cry. He's just so overwhelmed. Nothing has gone right in  
his life. 

"Please Ryan, let's try to take a deep breath."

A voice inside Ryan's head is going, "Hey Ryan! Remember when your dad broke  
your jaw and you said it was a bad fall and the doctor believed it?" And  
"Remember when your boyfriend was sleeping with another guy?"

"Ryan, listen to me. Look around you. Look at my stupid face and ugly glasses on  
the shelf."

And Ryan does. Slowly, he listens to Brendon's voice over his mind. The voice in  
his mind isn't a voice, just his thoughts that come up at the worst of times,  
that eat at him until absolute panic. 

"I understand that was a lot to you. And I'm really proud on how much you told  
me for your first session."

Ryan is silent, but his breathing is controlled. 

Brendon's hand is resting on his back. 

"So the goal for you this week is to find some light in your life. Something  
that's good. Whether it be a movie or a book. Or something deeper. Okay?"  
Brendon's voice isn't pleading or desperate. But Ryan agrees anyway. 

-

Brendon's not actually that horrible. His direction is fine and he's not just  
some stupid therapist. But Ryan feels so embarrassed. 

His car is hot when he gets in it and he doesn't drive off right away. 

Find something good in his life. 

Ha, okay. An air conditioned car would suffice, for now. 

And well, Brendon's pretty good too.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan’s house never felt so small. The lack of places of spaces to hide, places to go- think, escape. His heart races and his muscles are tense as his father corners him.

“What do you think I’m going to do?” He asks in an eerily gentle voice. His angry voice is nothing compared to this one.

The man’s pupils are blown so big the color of his eyes isn’t visible. Ryan swallows hard, “I,” Ryan shakes his head so hard, as if he’s trying to shake of the nervous energy.

Fucking wake up Ryan.

His Dad grabs a handful of Ryan’s hair and forces him onto the ground. Ryan crawls backwards, waiting for the moment of impact. But it doesn’t come.

He wakes up, body drenched in sweat and heart racing just as hard as it was in the dream. The duvet is tangled to his side and he rolls over onto his stomach. A half hour of sleep. Close enough.

It’s about 4 AM, and Ryan takes a shower. He feels like he’s dying after these nights and ends up just standing under the water for a few minutes. He stares at himself in the mirror, and even looks like he’s about to die. The bags under his eyes never been darker and his cheekbones are becoming more visible from lack of nutrition. He does eat, maybe once or twice a day, but his body is responding horribly to this“insomnia” or “depression”.

These days have been so cruel. Any chance he has to sleep, he gets a nightmare. His apartment is empty, like always. He’s alone, like always.

It’s not like he can call Spencer, he’s probably asleep in bed with his girlfriend. Their limbs are probably tangled and her head is probably on his chest. Spencer probably feels fucking pleased with his life.

Ryan decides to just leave his apartment and take a walk. What else would he do? Nothing on TV interests him anymore. It’s cool out; the sun's not making it’s full appearance quit yet and neither are the people. The streets are empty except for some stray cars. Who knows where they could be going. Maybe left early for a trip, or work, or escaping from a one night stand. The sidewalks are cracked and covered with old chewed up gum, expected for Chicago sidewalks- even the north side. The stores are all closed and dark, and Ryan likes it. In fact, it’s more comfortable than during the day. He sees a man leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, at least he thinks. What is he doing out at this hour? He’s not going to ask him, though. He could get killed.

It’s just not fair that he's awake at his hour.

The next two are just spent wandering around with no specific destination, the sun coming up and cars and traffic forming. He decides to go back home then, but he forgets where he is. He hails a cab with some struggle, but once he's in he tells the driver his destination. The cab driver doesn’t say a word, just how Ryan likes it. There’s some old 70s rock playing on the radio and Ryan remembers when he used to be able to play this song on guitar. He does miss it, but he knows he can’t pick one up again. He wouldn’t. His main goal is to just sleep a whole night. Man, he needs coffee.

His apartment is in the same state as when he left it three hours ago. His phone is still on the charger, and he checks his texts. Spencer texted “Hey, you alive?” a few minutes ago.

“Just as much as yesterday,” Ryan replies.

Spencer texts back barely twenty seconds later. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Half hour.”

Spencer types and pauses, then continues typing. “I wanna take you out tonight. To meet some people.”

“I’m not lonely,” Ryan replies. God, Spencer, lay off.

“But you’re alone. And that’s a symptom.”

-

Wow, unsurprisingly, Ryan hates people. The bar is semi-full. It’s not crazy, either. There are no people dancing and it’s more like a casual hangout place, so it's better than Ryan would've thought. Spencer brings over a few of his buddies to greet him.

“Hi, I’m Gabe!” The tall, dark, handsome man reaches a hand out to Ryan.

“And I’m William, nice to meet you. Heard all good things,”Ryan has to shake William’s hand too.

William has a beer in his hand and Gabe just seems like he’s naturally a bit fruity. “So, I heard you like The Strokes?” Gabe asks, “Great guys. Saw them and hang with them a few times.” Ryan is sort of shocked, because Spencer can’t stand them.

“Yeah, actually. I really like them.”

Gabe smiles. “Did you see them April 22nd?”

“At the Riviera? I was there,” Ryan nods. That night was actually horrible other than the music. He almost passed out.

“Dude, we should totally meet up at a concert sometime. I totally could introduce you to the guys! I think they’ll come to visit soon,” Gabe is so animated, Ryan’s having issues even following.

“That sounds.. great actually.” Is he doing this right?

“Hey, Ryan, what about The Vaccines? You like them too right?” Spencer asks.

Ryan scoffs, “Yeah, and you do too, but you refused to go to their show with me in, like, freshman year of college.” Ryan nudges him with his elbow.

“Hey! It was finals week.”

“Yeah, he’s right Spence, if The Vaccines is coming to town, you fucking go,” William narrows his eyes at him.

“Excuse me! Does anyone care about their education?” Spencer asks. A collective “no” comes from a group. “You guys suck.”

Ryan’s eyes trail across the room. Nobody he has seen before. Even though this place is known to have regulars, Ryan certainly isn’t one. But wait. Oh. Is that? No. _Therapists have nights out too, Ryan._

The most ridiculous thing is that Brendon has an arm wrapped around a shorter, dark haired guy. And he's laughing drunkenly with a half finished drink in his other hand. He's wearing a button down shirt with some pattern on it, which is tucked into his skinny jeans that are held up with a leather belt. His glasses are nowhere in sight and his hair's significantly messier. Ryan feels ridiculous for thinking _"Fuck you, therapists shouldn't be this happy. Or do these things"_ because they're supposed to be the practical ones. Married with a family and a dog that can get the paper for them.

But, no. Brendon seems pretty gay and not like he's going to settle down any time soon, either.

"Hey, Spence, I think I'm gonna head home."

"Why?! We were all just about to head to my place," he pouts.

Ryan shakes his head, "Maybe next time. I'm tired."

"Well, have a good night Ry!" William says.

Gabe nods as if to say "what he said".

He tries to remain unnoticed from Brendon on his way out, but it's very well possible that he caught a glimpse. Hailing a cab has never been so hard, especially on a busy night like this. After the fourth time a cab just drives past him, he sits down at the bench. Even standing too long can make him exhausted these days.

"Need help getting a cab?" A voice next to him asks. But it's the voice he's been trying to avoid all night.

"Um, no," Ryan mutters.

Brendon looks over to him. "Wait, Ryan?"

"... Hi." God, he wants to go home.

"What brought you out tonight?" Brendon asks, rocking back on his heels as he looks down the road for a cab.

"Um, who, technically. Spencer did."

"Nice. Glad to see it." Luckily Brendon doesn't say anything regarding therapy or appointments. Instead he just does the same as Ryan did, stand on the side of the road trying to get a cab.

"It's fucking useless, I swear," Ryan says. "I might just walk." Right as Ryan says that, a cab pulls over to the both of them.

"Ha! Got him. Wanna share it?" Brendon asks. Ryan can tell Brendon's a little buzzed from the alcohol.

"What?" Ryan shakes his head, "Um, we probably live too far from each other."

Brendon tilts his head. "I live on Velmont, you?" Ryan looks at him, clearly taken aback, "Um, same." Just fucking peachy.

They get in the cab, and it turns out their buildings are right next to each other. "- and it's funny because I totally looked at apartments in your building too, but I decided on this one just because it had an extra room. Cos I have so much crap. It's ridiculous." Ryan nods as he watches the stores in the window fly by. Brendon talks a lot outside the office, maybe because he's making up for lost time. "So, yeah, Jon invited me out tonight and I met up with an old friend, which was cool. Haven't seen him since the summer before college. Absolutely crazy."

Ryan wonders just how he can ramble this much. "Yeah, that is crazy." Brendon is actually cute when he rambles. Even though Ryan's not in the mood to listen to it, it's cute how he can just keep a conversation going no matter what the other person says. Ryan could say he likes toast and Brendon could work off of it. The cab fair is split between the two of them and they're ready to part ways.

"Well, it was nice talking to you outside of sessions, if you ever want to visit I'm only a buzz away! Have a good night, Ryan," Brendon says. And uh, what? Did Brendon just invite Ryan to come over some day? Are they even allowed to do that?

"Okay, thanks," Ryan says.

His apartment is dark but the look of the city from the living room is outstanding. There are millions of lights on and it's a busy night, traffic never letting up.

Once he thinks the night is over, his phone rings. He assumes it's Spencer just because... who else would call him?

"Hello?"

"Ryan, hey, just wondering, if you would like to go out to lunch with the guys and me tomorrow. We're going to that Italian place you love so much."

Ryan doesn't even think, "Sure, sounds good."

"Wow, okay, cool. I'll pick you up at 12:30," Spencer says, somewhat surprised. "Try and sleep tonight, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." The line goes dead and Ryan can't think of anything to do but read. He gets out one of his favorite books, _Beyond the Waves_ , and spends over half of the night reading it. It's about this young guy that has to leave his family to work on a ship with a horrible boss. The book isn't something that puts your life into perspective like one might think, but it keeps Ryan's mind busy.

When he finishes it, the night has slowed down. More buildings have lights turned off and there is less traffic. Ryan's eyelids slowly close as he drifts to sleep.

-

Forty-five minutes. Ryan got forty-five minutes of sleep last night. To think optimistically, it's fifteen more minutes than what the night before. And who knows, sometimes when you feel like you've been awake for some time, you fall asleep for increments. And after a few shots of expresso from the coffee shop, Ryan feels like he can somewhat function. The bookstore near it is also open, so he gathers a few new releases and makes it a little morning to himself. He enjoys having this alone time- when no one is bothering him or worrying about him. It's nice to relax once in a while.

And when 12:30 rolls around, Ryan's ready to go for lunch. He wants to enjoy the meal, but he's nervous to speak to Gabe and William again. Maybe they won't find him as cool as they thought he was, since they were drunk.

"... And Pete, Patrick, and Alex are gonna come too, if that's all right. Patrick's the nicest guy I've ever met, but can be a little sassy sometimes. Pete is just a goofball and Alex is just so chill."

Ryan scoffs, "What the fuck? You didn't tell me so many people were coming. I thought it was just Gabe and William! And they probably don't even remember me from last night," Ryan frowns.

Spencer shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. "Calm down, of course they remember you. They weren't that drunk. In fact, we were all pretty civil."

"'Pretty civil', okay. Sure. Oh, and by the way, my therapist also knows how to party. And he's my neighbor," Ryan rolls his eyes.

"Woah, what?" Spencer has to take his eyes off the road for a second.

"Yeah, well, he was meeting up with his buddies, and then he saw that I was having issues hailing a cab, so we ended up going to the same street."

Spencer runs his fingers through his brown hair. Maybe he should trim it soon. "Well. Anything else happen?" Spencer asks.

Ryan shakes his head, "He told me I could come visit sometime. He lives in The Oxford."

"So the building right next to yours? Weird. Real' weird," Spencer says, pressing on the breaks for the red light.

"I know. I have to see him again on Monday too... thanks for that," Ryan snarls.

"Two sessions a week just sounds like a good idea!" Spencer pleads.

"I'm not _crazy_ , Spenc-"

"I never said you were! Some people just need a tuning up sometimes. Some people are different and... ugh, I'm saying this all wrong. Anyway, Linda goes to therapy too you know. I might even start sometime. Only my insurance doesn't cover it and I'm not as lucky as you are with your financial situation," Spencer sighs, "now let's not fight and have a nice lunch with the guys, okay?" Ryan rolls his eyes again.

Gabe greets Ryan and Spencer with a hug, regardless of the fact that it has been less than 24 hours since he last saw them. William gives Ryan a one-armed hug, and Pete and Patrick give handshakes. Nobody knows where Alex is, but they decide to order drinks anyway. Nothing alcoholic, thankfully.

"And I called my landlord, and it turns out that they can't fix the sink until tomorrow. So I have to wash dishes in my bathroom sink," William pouts.

"That sucks man, that can't be good for your bathroom sink either," Pete says.

"It isn't," Patrick chimes in. Patrick is significantly shorter than most of the table and he's wearing a black fedora that covers his blonde hair. Pete only beats him by maybe an inch. Upon more observation, Ryan realizes that it is, in fact, the guy Brendon was talking about last night. Small world.

"So Ryan, where do you live? Not to be creepy," Gabe asks. Ryan clears his throat. "Uh, The Benedict."

The table minus Spencer raises their eyebrows. "High end, wow. What do you do?"

"Nothing, right now. I used to work for Allstate, but the management was terrible," Ryan laughs to himself.

"He's thinking about restarting his dad's old business. Right Ryan?"

"Um," No, he wasn't, "Yeah, maybe." Why does he have to lie?

"Yeah, his dad used to be the CEO of Ross Technology. He has an opening that I think he should take." That is true. But he kind of just leaves that note on the dining room table to save for another day.

"Ross Technology? You mean the guys that supply apple all of their... techy stuff?" Pete pipes up. Ryan nods. Yeah, those guys. "Wow, so you must have a lot of money."

" _Pete_ ," Patrick face palms, "manners."

Pete is quick to defend, "No! No, I didn't mean it like that, just that, you know, we don't see people like you willing to hang out with us music people."

"I like music," Ryan says, ripping off a piece of breadstick and taking a bite.

 

"Oh hey Alex!" Spencer calls a tall, lanky dark haired kid over. He couldn't be older than 23.

"Hi, guys," Alex greets, taking a seat. "Sorry, Chicago traffic is something I tend to forget about."

"Happens to the best of us man," Patrick says. "Oh! And by the way, meet Ryan. He's one of Spencer's buddies."

"Hi, Ryan," he reaches over the table for a handshake. He's sweet and wearing a pair of ray bans. His sleeves are also folded up to look more formal. Nice.

During the rest of the lunch, Ryan realizes that he does do things a bit differently. Like how he puts his napkin on his lap and tears bread instead of biting it. Or how he sits up straight to be polite. These were things he just always knew how to do. Once it's over, Spencer knew Ryan wanted to leave.

The car ride was silent on the way back to Ryan's, mainly because Ryan's pissed about Spencer for lying to his friends about him. Is the that horrible? Is he that much of a disappointment? Apparently. Either way, anything Spencer said about him being crazy or different is completely bullshit now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote way more than I thought. Oops! Hope you guys like it! I'm not the world's best writer, no doubt, but I hope you like the initial story enough to keep reading! Also sorry this is later than I thought it would be, but AOO kinda did that glitch thing where it doesn't show my story. Rude.   
> xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

"So Ryan, how was the rest of your week?" Brendon asks. His hair is slicked back just like the last time Ryan was in here. His glasses are slipping down his nose, but he pushes them back into place.

Ryan sighs, "Okay, I guess."

"How much did you think you slept?"

"Maybe like, three hours total," he replies flatly. Ryan holds his eyes at half mass and feels like they could stay like that forever. They were bloodshot when he looked in the mirror this morning.

"So, I'm thinking about sending you to a psychiatrist to prescribe you some medicine for this. I think it could help you," Brendon says.

Ryan takes a deep breath in. Well, it was nice knowing you, Brendon.

"... but I would like you to come and see me still, the psychiatrist is covered completely by your insurance and you'll only have to see him once." Ryan stares.

"Why can't I just see one of you?"

"Well. I suppose you could, but-"

"No offense, but I don't even want to see you sometimes."

"No offense taken. How are your dreams? Has the same one still been happening?"

"Yep," Ryan pops his lips on the "p".

"So what do you do when you aren't sleeping?"

A small smile stretches onto Ryan's face as he slides lower into the sofa. "I went for a walk a few days ago."

"What time was that at?"

Ryan can't remember at the top of his head, "Uh, four in the morning I think? It's quite cold. I need to wear a jacket."

"Chicago's always cold. For at least ten months of the year," Brendon scratches the back of his head.

Ryan shrugs, "I forgot."

"So, anything else?"

"Not anything too significant or life changing."

"I think that's what you need though." Ryan scoffs.

"How would you feel about trying something like painting, or some way to distract yourself that is allowing you to show your artistic side?"

Really? Ryan rolls his eyes, "Sounds dumb."

"Have you ever tried like, poetry or something? Just give it a shot. Maybe having some of those thoughts on paper will help ease them," Brendon recommends. "Roll your eyes again, I dare you."

"Can we at least not drag out all this stupid mushy recommendation stuff that I won't ever listen to? Honestly, I don't have time for it. I don't want to have time for it," Ryan bites. Brendon stares.

"Why are you resisting my recommendations so much?"

"Because they're ridiculous," he counters. "What made you want to even do this job and deal with people like me?"

"People like you? I've never dealt with anyone like you. No patient is the same."

"'No patient is the same' my ass. You've had insomniacs before."

"Sure I have, but I haven't had a guy my age who acts this way."

"Acts what way?" Ryan pushes.

"No- just listen."

"You listen, it's your job."

Brendon bites his lip. "Fine, then tell me what's up your ass. It could be about me, or anything you want to get off your chest." Ryan laughs shortly, "About you? Where do I start. The fact you even acknowledged me out at the bar pissed me off. The fact you hailed a cab and I didn't pissed me off. The fact that we live on the same street pisses me off. The fact that your hair is inconsistent from work to play confuses me. The fact that your glasses always look like they're about to fall off your face even is pissing me off because you adjust them every twenty god-forsaken seconds." Brendon doesn't write that down. "Also the fact that you always maintain eye contact makes me uncomfortable."

Brendon grins. "That, I've noticed. Why do you think you have issues with that?"

"I don't know? Why do you stare into peoples' souls?"

"It's part of the job description." Brendon's impossible. He makes these recommendations Ryan wouldn't be caught dead doing, and then gives him a hard time. Shouldn't Ryan have a say on what he wants to do? Now he wants to make sure he knows who's boss. He's paying him, not the other way around.

"Writing couldn't hurt, if you think about it," Brendon says, raising his eyebrows. Whatever, Brendon. Honestly.

"Why were you not insulted when I said all those things?" Ryan asks, the question just popping into mind. Brendon laughs, "Getting insulted by patients is also part of the job description."

"Have you ever gotten hit on?" Brendon shakes his head, the same smile before lingering on his face.

"Yeah, I have. It has never worked though."

Ryan sighs, "Ah, yeah, understood. They're all crazies. In fact, I'd say I'm more sane than the people who walk in here."

Brendon puts his clipboard on the desk and leans foreword. "That may be true, but I couldn't tell you that due to confidentiality."

"Ah, boohoo, what's some chatting between neighbors?" Ryan pushes. "I want to know /everything/."

"We're supposed to be talking about you-"

"Ah, c'mon, I'm a hopeless case, really. This is my only source of entertainment for the week. Enlighten me." Brendon is so taken aback by Ryan's forwardness, but he must admit it's the most fun conversation he's had with a patient in ages.

"Meet me at the bar later tonight, then?" Brendon says. I'll tell you the craziest I've seen. But I won't tell you whether or not they were my patient."

Ryan smirks. "Sounds good."

"And I can guarantee that my hair will be different."

-

"So no advice tonight, for the love of God," Ryan says once they sit down at the bar. It's like a casual night out with an old friend, except with his therapist, and Ryan doesn't know what to think about it. All he knows is that Brendon has in fact changed his hair to the same swoop he quiff he saw last week.

"Fine, sure. You can even ask the questions, if you like," Brendon grins, taking a sip of beer.

"Then answer this: what are you doing as a therapist?"

"Too stupid for med school, I guess. You know, most people that go into family therapy aren't that smart. They couldn't deal with too much school nor did they want to pay for it," he replies. "Besides, my parents thought social work would be good for me. I talk a lot."

Ryan raises his eyebrows and leans in closer, "You're telling me, that you became a therapist to talk to people, but tell your patients it's their job to do it?"

"What?" Ryan shifts. "I never said I was good at conjuring up coherent sentences. But isn't it the patients job to do the talking?"

"Well yes, but a large part of my job is giving advice. And I'm not to bad at it. Except with you-"

"What about me?"

"You don't listen!" Brendon says exasperatedly.

"I do listen! We're having a real conversation here," Ryan protests, hands motioning to the space around them.

"And we don't in therapy?" Brendon narrows his eyes.

Ryan nods. "Therapy isn't real. You aren't real in there. You're just doing your job and giving advice for a pretty penny. You're... well, /you/, here." Brendon stares at Ryan. Surely Ryan isn't looking like the most attractive man right now, but something about him keeps Brendon's attention. He cares about him, more than other patients.

"Now how about we go get something to eat?" Ryan asks. "See? I do remember to feed myself."

-

Georgio's isn't as alive as it usually is on a Saturday night, mostly because the dinner rush is over. Ryan insists the deep dish is to die for, even though Brendon's avoided it like the plague. Plus, Brendon is happy with how much he can get out of Ryan outside of therapy. He's still bitter and rude, but he manages to be charming and somewhat sociable all at once.

"Come on, try it. It's incredible," Ryan urges. "But look at all of that /cheese/."

"Brendon Urie, I have put up with 2 hours of dealing with you in a renovated bedroom listening to your bullshit. Try it."

Brendon's not even offended, but instead cuts a piece with the side of his fork and digs in. It's a lot of cheese, as he thought, but the marinara sauce is something of its own. Brendon glances up to Ryan and sheepishly takes another piece. "Told you so."

Ryan didn't eat as much as Brendon did because his stomach simply does not compare in size.

Brendon's noticed that Ryan is actually a very proper man. He puts his napkin on his lap and sits up straight at the table. He doesn't put his elbows on it once, either. Occasionally he'd accidentally cross his arms, but then relax them in his lap. He doesn't seem as broken as he actually is. The rest of the dinner is just Brendon and Ryan talking. Brendon naturally studies him without noticing, until Ryan mutters a sassy "Dude, you're staring again". However, Brendon has told Ryan the same thing, earning a light laugh and scratch on the back of his head. He's not shocked that Ryan's really smart; he can talk about literature and music for hours just like him. It's been about an hour since they finished their pizza.

It's a whopping 11:30AM.

"So do you play anything? Instruments?" Ryan asks.

"Piano since I was five, actually," Brendon admits.

"You know, if you would have told me that on the first day I would have liked you a bit more. We should go to my apartment and you can play me something."

Brendon laughs, "Yeah, sure. Or mine, I know my piano better."

"What kind?"

"Yamaha. Impulse buy."

"G series?"

"Yeah, his name's Oscar," Brendon admits.

"And you think I'm weird."

-

Once they're in Brendon's apartment, Ryan's not surprised that the floor plan looks almost exactly like his. They are sister buildings after all. However, the main difference is indeed Oscar, in a light cherry color and beautiful golden strings. There is also sheet music in every corner of the apartment. "

So uh, yeah. This is it," Brendon says.

Ryan takes a deep breath. "Impressive."

"Wait till you hear me play," Brendon pulls the stool out from under the piano and sits.

"Cocky asshole, that's what you are," Ryan mutters half-heartedly.

"Well I did minor in music, so," Brendon pretends to flip his hair. He admits he was too scared to see how Ryan would react. Usually music majors aren't really praised these days.

Ryan leans against the kitchen counter. "Fine, then prove to me whatever they taught you in those four years."

"Eh, rather play you something from high school."

There isn't any sheet music on the piano itself, but Brendon breaks out into a fast and impressive piece. Ryan can't say exactly what's going on other than Brendon putting his heart and soul into it, leaning into the music and pressing on the pedals interchangeably. The song starts off wild and crazy, but changes dynamic shortly after. Brendon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Ryan moves closer to him, looking at Brendon's fingers fly across the keys. He hits one last chord and clears his throat.

"And uh, that's not the whole thing. Third movement of Moonlight Sonata. Kind of messy but-"

"Messy's not the way I'd describe it, necessarily."

Brendon turns to look up to him, "Then how would you?"

Ryan thinks, looking up to the ceiling and back down at him. "Pretty fucking cool."

Brendon stands to lean against his piano. "You're something else."

"Oh, so I'm not just a whiney patient?"

"Well. You are, but," Brendon's glance shifts from Ryan's eyes to lips.

They're so close and Ryan has a sly look in his eyes. "But what?"

"You drive /me/ crazy sometimes.

Ryan places a hand behind Brendon's neck. "What do you mean?"

Ryan's lips are so close to his now. And he didn't necessarily see it going in this direction, but he's strangely okay with it. Besides, how much longer will Ryan even be his patient? He hates it.

"Like now?"Ryan says, leaning in even further. As if there was enough room in the first place. 

"You're thinking too much," Ryan says, leaning in even further. As if there was enough room in the first place. Their lips are literally millimeters apart. And he knows what Ryan wants. Ryan wants to be able to say that Brendon made the first move- technically.

And well, fuck it. Fuck this guy. Brendon kisses him, pressing his lips to Ryan's with some force. Ryan kisses back, a smile lingering on his lips as Brendon grasps his waist and lower back. Ryan's tongue is unexpected but appreciated, warmth running through Brendon's body. Well, really, the warmth is more like fire and his entire body is tingling. Ryan would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same, body practically collapsing to Brendon's touch. The kiss is anything but innocent and sweet, noses pressed against each other whilst deep in the kiss and hands everywhere.

"You're such a douche," Ryan says once he pulls away, taking a deep huff. "I'll call you soon."

Ryan winks and lets himself out, leaving Brendon exasperated. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe that just happened?!?! I can. I wrote it.
> 
> OMG it's been so long, but y'all wouldn't believe the crap I had to deal with these last two weeks. I had really bad heart palpitations and got put on a heart monitor, and then on top of that I was swamped with school and college stuff. But now I'm done applying and already got accepted into one! Yey. Also sorry for the mostly dialogue chapter. It's really all I had the energy to write. 
> 
> Also here is the sonata :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zucBfXpCA6s 
> 
> Next chapter up next weekend. I PROMISE.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan was reeling.

He totally kissed his therapist. Not really a kiss, more like a full on make out session. If Ryan didn't stop it, god knows what would have happened.

It's just. Been a while for Ryan to enjoy someone's company as much as Brendon's.   He's not "afraid" of Ryan like most people. He's not disturbed by him or his life. It's nice.

Ryan brushes his teeth and heads to his bedroom, peeling off his clothes and lying in bed in his boxers. He feels like he could maybe just fall asleep this time. It's late enough at night, and he can't seem to keep his eyes open.

Finally they close, the way they've been wanting to for days.

-

4:30 AM, like clockwork. Ryan is trembling, breathing hard in his bed. It's just something he has to deal with. For some reason, tonight felt like it would be his first full night of sleep without a nightmare. He needs to keep in mind that Brendon's a therapist, not a miracle worker.

Instead of considered moping around the city, Ryan wanders into the kitchen. His cabinets are surprisingly full, containing fine china and various dry foods. He makes some chamomile tea, which sometimes works to calm him down. Even though he has never been fond of the taste of tea, he's liked the idea of it and the effect on him. Maybe it's just a placebo effect, but it doesn't matter. He considers rereading a good book, or perhaps checking his email, but rather turns on the TV. All that is featured is a documentary about Space.

Ryan wants to sleep more after finishing his tea, his body's muscles relaxing. He feels abnormally comfortable. Maybe it's the silence other than the TV and being rolled up in a ball on the sofa, or just the fact that someone in this world enjoyed his company for at least 10 seconds.  

He takes a half hour nap.

-

"Wow, you got some sleep last night? That's amazing!" Spencer enthuses.

Ryan smiles, looking down at his shoes, "I did. Three and a half hours!"

"It's a step, I must say. You still look like death though," Spencer nudges him. Ryan flips him off.

Ryan really has never done any in depth shopping in Chicago, but Spencer needed a suit and Ryan happened to need a few things as well. The suit Spencer bought costs a significant amount of money, and same could be said about Ryan's new shoes. Maybe buying a $200 pair of shoes wasn't one of his better life choices, but having a crush on his therapist wasn't either.

"So how's the business going? You gonna come back to them?"

"I already get paid for owning it. Why would I?" Ryan asks. And it's true. He does own it, technically. Surely what they do with it isn't his business, but as long as he gets his loyalties every few weeks he's fine.

"Doesn't work give you a purpose?"

Ryan shrugs as he stares into the window of a donut shop, "More like unnecessary stress."

"God, I could list a bunch of people who would die for a job offer like yours. Or a life like yours."

Ryan turns to Spencer with an angered look. "That's not what I meant," Spencer says.

"Yes, it is," Ryan glares. "I'm sorry I'm not as self sufficient as you."

Spencer recoils. He doesn't even say anything.

"I'm gonna skip out on tonight, I think. I have shit to- oh wait. I don't. Because I'm wasting my life away, unlike you and your new-money friends."

Ryan walks away then, with as much strength in his step as he can muster. He's just so /mad/ that his best friend thinks of him as such a deadbeat. He isn't. He's just trying to get over this. Plus, it's not like he's totally disconnected from the working world. He does get emails and calls from people of the business asking him for permission of grants. So technically, his Dad's business would be nothing without him.

He hails a cab, one actually coming to him with the first try. He asks to be taken to Ross Technology.

The oversized office has it's own zip code. Ryan had to travel a little out of the city to Northbrook,and he had to take down the cabs number to get someone back here when he's done. He still has his new pair of shoes in the box and bag on his arm.

The security nods at him before letting him into the building, but the secretary looks less enthused.

"Excuse me sir? How may I help you?"

Ryan smirks, "George Ryan Ross," he hold out his hand, "I would like to speak to Dennis Barker."

Her jaw opens so wide spiders could build a web.

"Um, yeah, certainly. Let me escort you Mr. Ross."

Ryan mutters a thanks. He hates being called Mr. Ross, but he takes it anyway.

The secretary knocks on the door even though the windows to Dennis's office are glass.

"Ryan! How is mini Ross?" Dennis says, opening his arms. They embrace for a second, then make their way into the office. "Wanna start working here again instead of just giving us money?"

Ryan shrugs, "Actually, yes." Ryan straightens his posture.

"We'll your fathers office- or your office- hasn't been touched. I guess you could say that we've been waiting. We know you can contribute a lot to /your/ business."

Ryan nods. No shit. His dad has been forcing business practice on him since he was ten.

"So," Dennis smiles wide, making his wrinkles more prominent. "When do you want to start?"

"I can get situated in my office right now, and I'm ready to work."

Dennis laughs, "Just like your father, you are."

-

Ryan's stomach is still twisting from Dennis' "compliment". Of course Dennis thinks that; the man has never seen older Ross's real self.

His office is /gigantic/ it has two desks with a laptop on one and a desktop on the other, a table for meetings, and a TV in the corner. Of course that TV is only used to hook up to computers during meetings, but that's besides the point.

He didn't miss this life at all. The only reason he's doing it is to make Spencer and Brendon happy.

He turns on his computer and logs onto his email. The threads have already started to include him, asking about new data plans and other business things most people wouldn't understand.

This is his life. Again.

\-  

"I /don't/ think that was a good idea," Brendon says.

Ryan stares. "What do you mean?"

"You need time to get better. This is only going to make it worse! It'll exhaust you even more and stress you out even more!"

"Do you know what a worse stress is? All of your friends looking down on you for not doing shit. That's worse."

Brendon pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Spencer's looking down on you?"

Ryan scoffs, "Spencer's not my only friend, you know."

Brendon raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, he is."

"Did he actually say something like that? Are you sure he meant it? He was the one concerned enough about you to send here."

"We'll apparently I'm crazy enough for this but not enough to leave work. Which, by the way, is work. Contrary to popular belief."

"I don't just sign my name on papers," Ryan continues, "I'm not that guy. That's Dennis, with my consent. I create the shit that money gets spent on. Just like ole Daddy-o."

Brendon nods. "Interesting."

"So how about you come over later?" Ryan asks, that stupid cheeky grin on his face that Brendon can't stand.

"Yeah, sure," Brendon laughs, "but focus. My advice to you is to, fine, whatever. Keep working, but don't go overboard. If it becomes too much, simply unplug. Tell them you want to take it slow."

Did Brendon literally just forget how dependent his company is on him?

"Okay."

"And have you been sleeping any better?"

"Yep. 3 hours a night on average."

"That's actually, wow, really great. Um, what about those dreams?"

"In full swing. You're not surprised."

Brendon isn't. Even though Ryan's been sleeping more, he still looks physically worn. "What have you done to stop the nightmares?"

"Not sleep, duh," Ryan mutters. "Now I just can't sleep."

"You basically trained yourself to not be able to fall asleep," Brendon frowns.

Ryan shakes his head.

-

Ryan lies on his couch, his eyes closed. The soft mutter of the news is playing in the background while he relaxes.

The rest of the session was emotionally draining. Just the way Brendon makes him talk is something he's not familiar with. He had to say, in detail, what the nightmares were. Just describing his father hurt him. His hands were shaking intensely, and Brendon reached over and held them. His thumbs traced over Ryan's skin, and something about it was comforting enough. His stutter was still prominent, though, and it's not like Brendon could caress his tongue.

Well, technically.  He could.

Brendon knocks on the door then, a soft tap that sends Ryan to it.

Brendon's hair is shaggy and down, and he's in much more comfortable clothes. He looks so soft, unlike when he's at work.

"Since I'm not at work, would it be okay if I-"

"Yes," Ryan breathes out, connecting their lips. Brendon places a hand on Ryan's hip, leaning into him. They both regret waiting this long, but something about the setting of the office is so uncomfortable to them. Patient- therapist- their titles don't matter here.

Brendon's tongue meets Ryan's bottom lip, making Ryan moan in surprise. Ryan lets him take control and feel his own dominance. He's so warm that Ryan could just melt against him.

Brendon pulls apart, taking a deep breath. "You are so beautiful to me," he says confidentially.

Ryan's heart hits hard against his chest. "I-"

Ryan shakes off whatever he was going to say, kissing him harder and deeper than last. He's so desperate for him it's ridiculous. He doesn't have to hide behind anything with him.

They kiss until their lips hurt. They laugh like teenagers and walk into the kitchen to make popcorn and get drinks. Brendon insists on watching 500 Days of Summer, a terrifyingly boring rom-com that they have an excuse not to watch.

"So what is wrong with you?" Ryan asks.

Brendon tilts his head in question. "Why do you find me the least bit appealing?" Ryan elaborates.

Brendon nudges him, "You need more self confidence."

Ryan elbows him back. "No, really."

"Well. You're witty, smart, you have good taste, you're just the right type of stubborn and smug. I don't know," Brendon blushes.

Ryan leans into him, pressing his nose into his neck, "You do. Can't blame you, though. I'm irresistible. Insomniac with whatever else you claim I am."

"'Suffers from panic disorder', I am a sadistic piece of shit."

Ryan teasingly opens his mouth and traces his teeth along his neck. Brendon inhales sharply.

"I may be 'sick', but I'm not contagious."

Brendon turns and pushes Ryan to lie down on the couch. He lies on top of him, arms to the side of his head. Ryan's eyes are looking at his half open, staring at him contently.

"Thank /God/," Brendon says, laughing and kissing him. Ryan's lips are chapped, but perfect, working with Brendon's in unison. His skin is also dry, but that's okay to Brendon. He knows he's not in great health. He knows one day he'll be better. But it's not like what he has now is something horrible. Ryan's perfect. For him.

He still really wants to fix him.

Brendon sits up and plays with the hem of Ryan's shirt. "Can I?"

Ryan's eyes widen. He wants to. But his chest got tight and his hands start to tremble as he reaches to hold to back of Brendon's arm.

He can barely talk. He doesn't want to say anything because he's so embarrassed.

"Okay, it's okay, no- we don't. It's fine," Brendon says, reaching his hand out to stroke his cheek.

**  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd be on time with the next chapter \o/. I'm starting to move along with the plot woo!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked! (Please let me know, haha, I don't even know if I want to keep writing it). Listen, sorry for the formatting, I wrote this on my phone. So any mistake is because I'm using a 4 inch by 4 inch screen. Curse this.  
> ALSO I wanna start updating my fics more often, so I'm going to be updating every week, switching fics. woo!


End file.
